“I’ve already made it clear to Warren that nothing is going to happen,” she confessed quietly. “You don’t have to worry. Happy?”
“It isn’t about me being happy.” Fraser softened, reaching out to touch her arm. “I only wantyouto be happy, Eiley.”
“I know.” Even if being happy also meant being alone, because it seemed like she only ever attracted people who could wreck her. Warren had already shown her who he was: charming and helpful on the surface, yes, but she couldn’t forget that he would have flirted with anyone in that bar. She wasn’t special. He might only have helped her at all today because he’d expected something in return; it certainly hadn’t taken him long to have his way with her, after all. And thenthere was the fact he’d insulted her books, likely one of those narrow-minded idiots who thought romance was synonymous with “trashy”, because god forbid women imagine a world where men could be respectful, decent, romantic human beings with the ability to actually locate the clitoris – another thing Finlay had struggled with.
“I didn’t even know you were ready to date again,” Fraser said as she turned away, half to hide the turmoil she felt and half because she was tired of the conversation. She closed the pizza boxes left open on the counter, tempted to throw the food out. Discard of everything that had happened today.
“I’m not.” She doubted she ever would be, even if she found the time. Putting herself out here, even for just a second in that stockroom, had been terrifying. She was already wondering whether she’d come off too desperate, or if he’d noticed all her jiggly bits when he’d put his hand beneath her shirt. What had she been thinking, letting him so close?
“You do know that I’d support you if you were?” Fraser asked.
She suppressed a snort, because she didn’t know that. Not at all. She sometimes thought that if Fraser had his way, she’d be wrapped in cotton wool, protected from everyone and everything. Dating came with a truckload of hurt. Hurt he’d feared, too, which was why he hadn’t done it before Harper. They were both the same in that department, she supposed.
And it made sense. They’d seen their father abandon Mum, leaving Fraser to bear the weight of the role on his shoulders when he was too young to even know what it meant. Cam had spent half of her teenage years with mascara runningdown her face because, apparently, women could be just as brutal as men. They might have been happy now, but it hadn’t always been the case. For most of their life, love wasn’t safe.
“I think I’ll choose my peace over another relationship,” she decided, “but thanks.”
A hand found her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. Fraser pulled her into a hug, arms crushing around her in a way that put her back on solid ground with the rest of them.
Saffron grabbed a fistful of Fraser’s hair, which felt like apt punishment for the way he’d acted. He pretended to bite her tiny fingers, causing her to giggle.
“Y’know, I don’t blame you. I used to feel the same. You’ll find your person when the time’s right.” His eyes turned wistful as he glanced out the window, where Harper and Brook were making their way back with a whole tub of ice cream from the corner shop. In the café across the road, the window sign flipped toclosed. No wonder she suddenly felt wrung dry with exhaustion. It had been a long day on little sleep.
Longer still for this conversation. She perched on the armchair, deflated. “Aye, I know, and I’m so glad you found her. But I’m not you, Frase. That part of my life is over. I’ve got bigger things to focus on.” She tugged gently on one of Saffron’s golden ringlets, then blew a raspberry into her chubby palm until she giggled again. “Besides, realistically, you’d never be happy with anybody who I brought home. Too bloody protective.”
“Because you deserve the best, and most of the arsewipes out there aren’t good enough for you. Certainly not Flirty Fireman Sam.”
“He was helping me on his day off. It’s more than Finlay would have done.” Fraser gave her another look, one she immediately understood. If Finlay was the standard she held for any future partners, sexual or otherwise, she was right to give up. “Enough about it. Let’s just get home. I’m ready for passing out, and I’m sick of seeing all this mess.”
No amount of tidying seemed to make the place look any better. The store was chaotic, still, a long way from being fixed.
So she would give up and try again tomorrow, just like she always did. And she would forget about Warren, because it wasn’t the right time, and Warren wasn’t the right person.
Even if he refused to leave her mind long after she went home that night.
13
Warren would have chosen an emergency call over this any day –thisbeing thirty chatty seven-year-olds who hadn’t noticed him walk in, and probably wouldn’t notice when he started delivering his fire safety speech to them, either. Back in Inverness, school visits had been reserved for semi-retired fire officers, those they could spare from the bustling station. Not in Belbarrow. Warren suspected that word had gotten back to the chief about his tiff with a civilian and he was being punished for his lack of professionalism. As though the civilian in question hadn’t already punished him enough. Several times.
He wasn’t thinking of Eiley anymore. Much. Except maybe under his duvet in the dark, and in the locker room showers, and in the café when he grabbed his mid-morning coffee.
In fact, Blair’s cheery wave was a welcome reminder that his sights would be better set elsewhere, preferably on someone who actually wanted him. He skirted over a crumpled stick figure drawing and around a plastic chair that seemed too miniature for even these small humans, wincingat the sight of a blond boy licking his snot from his Cupid’s bow at the nearest table. It wasn’t that he didn’t like kids. The opposite. He wanted his own, when he eventually found the right person. But the bogies and the noise, he’d have to learn to love. Or tolerate. More than that, speaking in front of a crowd made him flustered. He was excellent at fire hazard lectures when they were one-to-one, but when he was outnumbered, not so much.
He was good at hiding that, though, confidently shaking Blair’s hand and then the classroom teacher’s, who introduced herself as Mrs Crumpsall. Warren remembered her hosting morning assemblies when he’d been a pupil, him and his mates often giggling at the back. Since he was currently having a similar problem, the kids babbling and laughing, he could only assume this was karma.
“Hoped it might be you we’d see today,” Blair said with a disarmingly wide grin, all straight, white teeth and apple cheeks. He couldn’t help but return it.
“Aye, thanks so much for coming in.” Mrs Crumpsall patted him lightly on the arm, sending a waft of pungent floral perfume that left him having to trap a sneeze. “I know they’re a raucous lot, but they’re getting to that age now where they need to know these things.”
He nodded in agreement. Kids could never be too young to start practising proper fire safety, especially with Halloween and Bonfire Night coming up in a few weeks’ time. He said as much, foot landing on something hard as he adjusted his stance.
“My Toothless!” The little girl’s sudden wail pierced Warren’s eardrums. She appeared seemingly from nowhere to rescue a black dragon figurine that now, thanks to the heavy soles of Warren’s boots, had a wonky wing. Oops.
“I, er, am very sorry about that,” said Warren. “I’ll try to fix Toothless after, aye? I’m an expert at setting broken bones.”
Aye, he definitely had a lot to learn about kids yet. Warren felt as though he’d stomped on her puppy rather than a bit of plastic.
Eager to move on, he produced the USB stick from his trouser pocket. “D’you mind if I plug this in for my presentation?”
